


The Villain

by AgentGreenBean (agentgreenbean)



Category: The Bright Sessions (Podcast)
Genre: Abandonment, Angst, Backstory, Owen is sad, Pre-Canon, anger issues, honestly im not sure if this makes sense, hope yall like it tho, no beta we die like men, this doesn't have any basis in canon im just projecting, this is just a vent fic tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-06
Updated: 2020-03-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:47:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23034973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentgreenbean/pseuds/AgentGreenBean
Summary: Owen wishes he could say he had ever been good.
Relationships: Joan Bright/Owen Thompson | Agent Green
Kudos: 7





	The Villain

**Author's Note:**

> sorry if this is kind of incoherent i tried my best

Owen wanted to say he hadn't always done bad things. That at one point, he was a perfect person who didn't do anything wrong or hurt anyone, for the "greater good" or not.

He couldn't say that, however, because he had always been morally grey at best and practically evil at worst. It wasn't like he tried to be that way. It was a matter of not thinking before he spoke, not controlling his anger, not knowing what he was doing, or thinking what he was doing was right. 

The first time he realized what he was doing, he was 10. After a misunderstanding in class, he had lashed out at another student. Yelling and making a scene and calling her names because she accidentally took one of his things from the book fair. Not long after he had to meet with the school counselor and was given a booklet to go through about anger issues.

It ended up in the bottom of his backpack, ignored and hidden from his parents because of the extreme shame he felt every time they asked if he had any more outbursts, talking to him in the same patronizing tone as everyone else.

For the next two years he let the anger sit in his chest, flaring up to burn him every time he was faced with a situation that would barely annoy anyone else. Someone would bump into him a bit too hard in the hallway and he'd feel his hands start to shake as he turned to say something to them before reminding himself that he couldn't do that. 

Until he made a friend. A real one, for what felt like the first time in his life. His name was Alex, and Owen found that they had a lot of similarities. Alex liked the same things as him, they had similar lives up to that point, and they seemed to just fit together like puzzle pieces.

Things were good for a few months. Not a long time at all, really. Then Alex started to spend more time with someone else, and that brought out such a terrible rage that Owen hadn't let himself express in years.

He tried to stay calm and quiet about it, but sometimes things bubbled up through the cracks like hot magma. That would cause him to say things that he almost always immediately regretted, snapping at Alex for the simplest of things. 

Maybe he won't be upset, he reasoned, if I just pretend nothing happened then he'll forget, right? 

"Owen, I can't do this anymore." It was a chilly spring day, both of them sitting on the swingset in the park behind Alex's house.

"What?" There was a spike of fear in Owen's chest, an impending dread at the impending unknown.

"You're terrible to me, man. You say things and then– then you just pretend like nothing happened, like it's fine," Alex scoffed.

"I'm sor–" Owen started.

"No," Alex cut him off, the chain of the swing clanking as he stood up, "you can't do that now. I'm– I just need a while. Without you, I mean."

Owen didn't say anything. There was nothing to say, really. I deserve this, he told himself, and he was right. This was his fault. Alex looked at him and he made brief eye contact before moving his gaze to the ground, keeping it there as Alex's crunching footsteps receded on the dusty gravel. 

He sat there for half an hour. Just sitting, staring, hoping. Hoping that Alex would come back, realizing a mistake. Hoping that someone else would come by and see him sitting there and talk to him, tell him he was right in this situation.

Nothing happened, and for once he wasn't angry. Anger got him into this, and now there was no point for it.

Alex left him with more emotional scars than he would ever admit, even if Owen was the one to make the mistakes. Things that Owen had previously enjoyed made him feel that same spike of fear as that day in the park to the point where he had to avoid those things, and it started to make him upset. He was getting angry again.

Until he was fourteen, he let the anger build up again. Don't show it, they'll hate you, they'll leave. He met a new friend, one who understood him better than anyone else ever could, even his parents or Alex. Rich was different than everyone else. 

I'll be different too, Owen vowed, I won't get angry, I won't say anything bad. I won't do anything to upset him.

Being around Rich actually helped him control his anger. He was gentle and nice and funny, making any of Owen's anger melt away into bubbling happiness and laughter. There was still moments where Owen felt himself slipping, getting oddly quiet in a way that clearly made Rich uncomfortable even if Owen had explained why he went silent, that it was because he didn't want to say anything wrong.

"I hung out with Alex after school yesterday," Rich said one day during lunch, and Owen froze up until Rich continued, "it was so fun, you should join us sometime."

Owen mustered up the courage to say, "I can't do that, you know why I can't– I shouldn't."  
"Fine." Rich dropped the conversation and Owen didn't try to revive it, folding his hands in his lap and staring at them.

Things got worse from there. They didn't have any classes together, so Owen couldn't talk to Rich outside of lunch. Rich eventually just stopped showing up at their usual spot, leaving Owen sitting alone.

Two weeks passed. Owen spent his time sitting and wondering what he did wrong, blaming himself without having any idea what could have possibly gone wrong. He had put everything he had into not screwing up like he did with Alex and things had been fine. They had been good until Rich just left.

He saw Rich in the hallway sometimes. Once he got close to him and the dam holding back his anger cracked, allowing him to reach out and his hand brushed Rich's jacket to grab it and stop him to confront him. Instead, he caught a glimpse of Alex laughing at a joke Rich had just told and dropped his hand to his side, clenching it into a fist and silently turning away. 

He walked out of the building, the day over, and didn't try to talk to Rich again for another two weeks.

It was after school and he stayed a bit late for help with homework. As he was walking out, he saw Rich grabbing his stuff from his locker. This is my chance.

"Rich!" It sounded more hostile than he meant it to and Rich jumped, turning to face him as he quickly put on his jacket.

"Go away, Owen."

"Not until you tell me what I did wrong."

Rich didn't respond, grabbing his backpack and swinging it over one shoulder. He slammed his locker shut and started walking down the silent hallway. Owen followed him.

"You have to tell me what I did. You don't have to be my friend again," he called out, jogging to keep up with Rich's hurried pace. He was ignored, again, and his anger surged and he knew he was losing control but he couldn't stop himself from running to catch up to Rich, grabbing his arm hard to make him stop walking. Rich looked into his eyes, and he looked… scared. Owen loosened his grip but didn't let go, still shaking from anger and terror of what the answer might be.

"I'll never talk to you again after this if you don't want me to. Just… you owe me an answer." Owen couldn't make eye contact, instead staring at his hand still clutching Rich's arm through his puffy red jacket. What are you doing? Let go! He didn't listen to his conscience.  
"I'm scared of you," Rich said quietly. Owen's head snapped up, making eye contact. Now both of them looked scared and Owen felt like he might throw up. 

"What?"

"I'm fucking terrified of you, okay?" Rich pulled his arm out of Owen's grip and held it close to his chest, "when you get angry I'm scared you'll hurt me!"

Owen didn't move. Didn't speak. Couldn't do either of those things, was almost scared to. His hand, still suspended where Rich's arm had been, dropped to his side. Rich stared at him, waiting for him to retaliate.

And then he walked away. 

Owen didn't talk to anyone else for a while. Most of his relationships, platonic and eventually romantic, were short-lived. Most of them less than a year and a half.

That was when he was being painfully careful, too. Anger wasn't his problem anymore. Now it was hiding things, doing bad things and then regretting them but they still hurt people.  
He met Joan and told himself he would be different for real this time. She was funny and pretty and so, so smart and he was in love with her. 

You can't screw this up. She's the one.

He was good at the friendship part this time. He didn't snap at her or even find himself getting mad. They argued, but it never got out of control like it always had for him in the past.  
Their relationship was good, too. She loved him and the things he did for her and he loved her completely for everything. Even how ridiculously cold her hands were all the time.

Of course, eventually something had to change. That's how the story always went.

Owen found out about Mark. As soon as he saw him in the cell he put the pieces together before even learning his name. He and Joan, they looked so similar in the tiny details that most people wouldn't focus on. 

He didn't tell her. How would he even say that? 'Hey, sorry to tell you this, but your brother is being experimented on and I've known about it for weeks?' 

It would ruin their relationship. Obviously he knew it was wrong, but he couldn't do it.  
She found out. Eventually she had to, and he knew that.

"How could you?" Was all he could remember her saying. The rest of it was a blur and she was moved out of their apartment within a week. He didn't say anything when she left.  
This time he knew he was wrong. He had always been wrong in situations like this. Always been the one to screw up.

Always been the villain in someone else's story.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! :)


End file.
